


Praying Ever Since New York

by goldheartedsky



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: 1930s, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Chronically Ill Steve Rogers, Jewish Bucky Barnes, M/M, Major Illness, Near Death Experiences, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sarah Rogers is the best mom, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-07 01:06:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16398509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldheartedsky/pseuds/goldheartedsky
Summary: “Do you remember that time you had pneumonia when you were seventeen?” Bucky asks, looking up from his journal, pen paused on the page. “What happened? I remember something but it’s just flashes.”Steve pauses, putting his book down. “I remember getting sick. I was out of school for weeks. And then my asthma got worse. I remember you staying by my side the entire time. You would just watch me breathe. But then Ma made you get some sleep.”“I woke up to check on you...”He nods. “She said you thought it was too quiet.”Bucky stares at the page, trying to bring the memories back. He looks up, confused. “You almost died.”The events that transpired that February in 1936.





	Praying Ever Since New York

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [two ghosts standing in the place of you and me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15946223) by [goldheartedsky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldheartedsky/pseuds/goldheartedsky). 



> I wanted to flesh out a scene in my fic and here’s the result! If you don’t want to read what this is based off of, you absolutely don’t have to (it makes sense as a stand-alone) but you’re more than welcome to if you do!
> 
> Note: once again, all Yiddish translations are thanks to google.

* * *

It’s been a long day at the office, helping his dad with negotiations over the price raise from their wool supplier, and Bucky just wants to get home. The February air is cold and the slush soaks up through his pant legs when he walks to the subway. It’s crowded for only being four in the afternoon, and he crams into a car, pressed between two bankers.

When he opens the door to his apartment, Leah runs out of her room and tugs on his arm. “Jamie, Jamie, Stevie’s ma called today! She was asking about you!” she says, big blue eyes peeking out of her thick curls.

“Did she say why she called?” he asks, bending down, worriedly. Sarah never called unless something was wrong.

“Ummm...” the seven year old begins, trying to remember the message. Leah taps her finger on her chin, the other on her hip. “I think she said something about somebody being sick. I think she said it was her that was sick. Or Stevie. Or both of them, I can’t ‘member.”

Bucky’s heart almost stops dead in his chest. He grabs his sister’s hand carefully and says, “ _Yeledah_ , I need you to think. Who did she say was sick. It’s important.”

“It was both. I’m sure.” She kisses him on the tip of his nose and skips off down the hall, humming softly to herself. He catches himself on the kitchen counter, trying to steady his breathing. If Steve was sick, then Sarah could look after him, but if both of them were sick, then there was no one to help but him.

He slips his coat back on as quickly as he can before racing back out the door, slamming it closed. He knows Leah will lock it behind him and he has only one thing on his mind.

Steve’s apartment is only nine blocks from his but he still runs the entire way, almost slipping in front of the library. Bucky flips the brick over when he climbs up the third flight of stairs, picking up the spare key from the melting snow. When he unlocks the back door to the apartment, there’s only one light on over the kitchen and he can hear weak coughing from the living room.

“Steve?” Bucky calls quietly, closing the door and kicking his shoes off. “Ms. Sarah?”

The faint coughing begins again and he clicks the light on over the living room to find Steve’s ma laying faintly on her bed, face pale and thin. Bucky knew her healthy had been fading over the past couple weeks but this was a turn for the worst. She smiles weakly at him and whispers, “James... I’m so glad you came.” He bends down next to her head, pushing the damp strawberry blonde curls out of her face and Sarah wraps her long thin fingers around his wrist. “Steven is sick...” she chokes out, voice raspy, and Bucky can see the worry in her eyes.

“Is it TB?” he asks quietly, mind immediately diving to the worst case scenario.

She shakes her head, but tightens her grip. “It’s pneumonia. Came down with it a couple days ago and it’s getting worse.” Tears prick her dark blue eyes as she says, “I didn’t have anyone else to call.”

Bucky forces a smile and reassures her, “I’m here now. I’ll go check on him, okay?”

He walks down the hall to Steve’s bedroom and can hear the rough coughing before he even opens the door. That familiar rattle of Steve’s lungs that sends needles down his spine every time he hears it. Bucky grips the door handle and hangs his head, muttering under his breath, “Damn it.”

The door creaks open and he sees the younger man bundled up to his neck in blankets, Steve’s pallid face sunk into his pillow. He’s seen Steve sick before but he’s never seen him this sick, skin completely white, save the dark circles staining the skin under his eyes. “Hey punk,” he mutters, trying to keep his voice as light as he crosses the small room.

Steve blinks his eyes open wearily and exhausted smile crosses the teenager’s face. “Hey... Bucky...” he rattles inaudibly, trying to push himself up in bed.

Bucky puts a gentle hand on the other teen’s bony shoulder and says, “Kid, just lay down. Nobody needs you up and at ‘em, okay?” Steve sinks back into his bed and closes his eyes gain. “Do you need anything right now? I’m gonna make you and your ma something to eat quick.”

Steve takes a shallow breath and just croaks weakly, “Need... water...”

He grabs a glass from the kitchen and fills it with the cool water flowing from the pipes in the sink before bringing it back. Bucky works a hand carefully under Steve’s sweaty neck and tilts him up gently. He winces slightly when the younger teenager lets out a broken whimper at the change in position. “Steve, it’s okay, just drink a little bit for me” he murmurs, tipping the glass to the blond’s chapped lips.

Steve drinks a couple sips before he coughs relentlessly, his body shaking in Bucky’s arms.

“Shit.” Bucky mutters, grabbing an extra quilt from the foot of the bed and rolling it up. He sticks it under Steve’s pillow and lays the blond back, propping his head above his chest. “Do you have any of your cigarettes around?” he asks, digging through the bedside table.

“Desk...” Steve breathes faintly as Bucky sets off digging through the drawers of the small table.

He pulls a green tin from the top drawer and digs out an asthma cigarette, sticking it between his lips to light it. The tip of the paper ignites quickly and Bucky coughs slightly, pulling the smoke from his mouth. “Don’t know how you smoke these,” he laughs quietly, holding it to Steve’s lips. “Just inhale as best you can.” Bucky sits there for almost ten minutes as Steve struggles to inhale the medicine, but it seems to help a little. “Feel better?” he asks, mussing up the shorter boy’s hair.

Steve nods dazedly, his pupils shrunk to pinpoints from the drugs as he breathes a little more steadily.

Bucky tucks the blankets back around him and clicks the lights off, shutting the door quietly. He has to clench his fists to keep his hands from shaking as he lets out a shuddering breath. He hated seeing Steve like this but he’s never seen his friend this bad and it just aggravates his sense of impending dread.

Steve’s ma is upright by the time he gets back out to the living room. He offers her a smile. “I got him some water and some medicine. He’s doing a little better, I think,” Bucky says quietly, helping Sarah to her feet.

She puts a hand on his cheek as he helps the petite woman sit at the dining table, murmuring, “You’re a good man, James. We’re lucky to have you.”

“Do you mind if I call my folks? Let them know I won’t be home for a bit?”

Sarah nods, settling back into the chair as she says, “Go ahead, James. You’re more than welcome to stay as long as you like.”

It takes a minute before he connects to his home, Rebby picking up the call. “Hello?” he hears his eldest sister say, voice crackling through the phone. “Barnes residence, who, may I ask, is calling?”

“Rebby, it’s James. Is _Tate_ or _Mame_ home yet?” he asks, leaning against the wall in the hallway. “I need to talk to them.“

“ _Tate’s_ still at work but _Mame_ just got home from the grocery store. I’ll go get her.”

Bucky waits as his sister disappears, listening to Steve’s coughing start up again behind the door at the end of the hall. “ _Motek_ , what’s wrong?” he hears his mother say suddenly and his hand clenches around the phone. “Leah said you ran off quickly after you came home. Is everything okay?”

He hears Steve’s barking cough again and it feels like his own chest is restricted now. Bucky runs a hand through his hair and says, voice thick, “ _Mame_ , Steve is sick again. Really sick. And his ma is sick too and there’s no one to take care of them. I might not be home for a while.” There’s nothing but silence on the other end of the line. “Can you tell _Tate_ that I won’t be at work either. If there’s an emergency, I-”

“James Barnes, you have responsibilities to your father and you cannot just drop everything for your friend.”

“ _Mame_ , if he dies and I’m not here, I’ll never forgive myself,” he says quietly, heart pounding in his chest. “I have to be here until they get better. You have to let me do this. _Zay_ _mir_ _moykhl_.” He doesn’t know if the apology is going to get him anywhere, but it’s worth a try.

His mother sighs quietly and he can picture her pinching the bridge of her nose like she always does. “I’ll tell your father but don’t think this is the last you’ll hear about it. You’ll have to face him eventually.” Bucky knows she’s right and he’ll be able to, someday when he doesn’t have sickness on his mind.

“ _Ikh_ _hab_ _dikh_ _lib_ , _Mame_ ,” he murmurs softly, but the phone goes dead before all the words come out of his mouth.

He fries some potatoes and corned beef, cracks open a can of green beans from the back of the pantry, and pulls a couple moldy spots off the top of the last slices of bread before putting them on the plate. He makes sure Sarah eats everything she can before taking the other plate in to Steve.

The seventeen year old’s face is slick with sweat, pale face flushed and clammy, and his eyes are still glassy and dazed. Bucky knows the side effects from the cigarettes take a while to disappear, but he’s pretty sure Steve is still out of his mind at this point.

“Hey buddy, I brought you some food,” he says, setting the plate down on his bedside table. Steve turns his head away from the smell, groaning weakly. “Steve, you have to eat something. C’mere, lemme help you.” He shifts the blond further upright and crawls up onto the mattress, propping the smaller teenager back against his shoulder. “Just a couple bites and you’ll be done.”

Bucky manages to feed him half a dozen small spoonfuls until Steve can’t even open his mouth anymore. He gets the blond to take a couple more sips of water as well, anything to get him to stop burning up in Bucky’s arms.

It’s barely a minute after he gets Steve back into bed when the younger man retches violently, curling around himself as he empties the contents of his stomach onto the sheets and blankets. “Shit,” Bucky snaps, jumping back quickly to avoid the mess. He sighs when Steve looks up at him shakily, exhausted tears in his eyes. “It’s okay, it’s okay, let’s just get you cleaned up.”

He changes the sheets and blankets and wipes Steve down with a cool towel. He starts everything soaking in the wash tub before going back to ease the blond into a clean night shirt. Bucky can feel every one of the teenager’s ribs sticking out of his already thin frame and it makes his chest ache.

Steve settles into the clean sheet and allows him to pile on the blankets as he wheezes, “Thanks... Bucky...”

He presses his lips gently to the kid’s burning head and murmurs, “Get some sleep, I’ll be right here.”

Steve’s eyes drift closed quickly as he falls asleep almost instantly, his lungs rattling with each shallow breath he takes.

Bucky stays awake all night, just watching the young man’s chest rise and fall, just making sure it does.

It goes on like that for almost a week before Rebby stops by to check on him after school.

Bucky is shaking with exhaustion when he opens the door to let his sister in, Sarah fast asleep on her bed. The twelve year old takes one look at him and sits him down in one of the dining chairs, chiding, “Goddamn it, Jamie, you need to rest before you pass out.”

His head spins as he scoffs. “ _Mame_ would beat you if she caught you talking like that.”

“ _Mame_ would beat _you_ if she saw what you looked like,” she says quietly, taking her boots off and placing them by the door. She hangs her jacket over one of the chairs and says, “When was the last time you slept?” Rebby asks worriedly.

He shakes his head, trying to keep his eyes open. “I don’t know. I think it’s been since I got here.”

She pulls him up and drops Bucky on the couch, pulling his long legs up with him as he lays down. “I’ll keep an eye on Steve, okay? But you’re no use to anybody if you’re this tired. Please rest.”

He follows his sister’s orders before she can tell him twice, exhaustion overcoming him.

He jolts awake, the setting sun blinding him, when he hears heavy wheezing from down the hall. Sleep still has a hold on him as he stumbles awake, careening towards Steve’s room. Bucky’s panic lessens only slightly when he sees Rebby holding a steaming bowl of water under his friend’s face. She looks up at him, her thin brows furrowing as she says, “He’s _really_ sick, Jamie. I think he needs a doctor.”

He watches Steve’s hunched body struggle for air with every breath, lips faintly blue around the edges. “They can’t afford a doctor, Reb. His ma’s been sick for almost a month and they’re already dipping into savings right now,” he says quietly, pushing the damp hair out of the blond’s face. “It’s just us for now.”

Rebby makes a mustard plaster with Sarah’s direction and helps Bucky apply it to Steve’s chest every couple hours until it starts getting late. He kisses his sister’s forehead and walks her to the end of the block before he says, “Thanks for all the help, Rebby. And thanks for letting me get a couple hours of sleep. I needed it.” The edge of exhaustion is gone but Bucky knows it’s still just around the corner.

She squeezes him tight around his waist and says, “Just take care of yourself too, okay?”

The girl disappears into the crowds as they part ways. Bucky sits on the frozen step outside the apartment building for almost ten minutes before he can finally calm his nerves enough to go back inside. Sarah is having enough of a good afternoon that she’s on her feet for the first time in weeks, making tea slowly in the kitchen. She sets a mug on the table and sits down in the chair across from it. “Sit down, James,” Sarah says hoarsely.

His heart pounds as he takes his boots and jacket off, muttering, “Ms. Sarah, I need to go check on-”

“I just did, dear,” she says tiredly, shushing him with her hand. “Please sit with me.”

Bucky swallows his heart down his throat as he sits across from her, wrapping his hands around the hot mug. His chin shakes and he bites the inside of his lip to try and stop it, but he’s not sure if it’s enough.

“Are you okay, James?” Sarah asks quietly, putting a thin hand on his sleeve.

He nods unsteadily and meets her calm gaze. “I’m so worried about him, Ms. Sarah. I’ve never seen him like this. I feel like if I look away for one second, I’m going to lose him,” he chokes out, voice wavering. “If he dies, a part of me is going to die with him.”

She tightens her grip on his arm and says earnestly, “You know you can trust me, right?” Bucky nods, and drinks the tea in a single hot gulp, warming himself from the inside out. He knows Sarah would take anything he told her in confidence to the grave, but he can’t bear to tell her. At least not yet.

It’s another four nights go by, Bucky’s fingers draped across Steve’s rattling chest, underneath the blankets, unable to tear himself away.

He feels like a ghost, stumbling around the apartment, changing the teenager’s sheets when he gets sick, trying to scrub everything down with bleach so Sarah doesn’t pass her own illness, trying to keep everyone fed, including himself, and it’s running him ragged. At one point, he drops a plate on the floor and spends the next five minutes just sobbing exhaustedly as he picks the porcelain shards off the floor.

Steve has another terrible episode, one that leaves them both shaking after Steve’s coughing finally subsides after almost an hour.

Bucky’s hand trembles as he spoons warm broth into the blond’s chapped lips. Steve is so weak that the liquid just slithers down his throat, too drained to even swallow. “You’re going to get better,” Bucky hums, voice shaking. “I’m going to make sure you get better. You can’t get rid of me just yet.”

The broth is the only thing the teenager has been able to keep down in days, but he finishes all of it with some quiet coaxing. Every time he touches Steve’s skin, it’s like he’s touching a still-hot cast iron pan. After he checks the blond’s temperature, having to hold the thermometer in Steve’s shuddering mouth, it reads almost 103.8. But even with the raging fever and the blankets piled high on his body, the kid still shivers like he’s been outside for hours.

“Hey buddy, I’m going to move you out with your ma so we can crank the heat in there. Keep you both warm,” he murmurs, working his hands carefully under the smaller teen’s frail body.

Steve whimpers faintly as he looks up at him, eyes unable to stay focused as Bucky lifts him.

They pass the bathroom and Bucky can hear the tub running, muffled behind the door. He sets the teenager on the couch and tucks the blankets around his shaking body. It breaks his heart when he watches hot salty tears leak out the corners of the blond’s eyes involuntarily. Wiping them away gently from burning skin, he murmurs, “You’re gonna shake this. You always do. It’s going to be okay.” Steve’s distant eyes slip closed as sleep consumes him.

He watches the blond breathe roughly in his slumber, wheezing with each shallow inhale, and it all becomes too much to bear. Bucky muffles his mouth with his hand as he bends over on the footstool, his body shaking. The first sob comes like a bullet, hitting his chest out of nowhere, then one after the others come until he’s gulping for air.

“Don’t leave me now. Don’t _fucking_ leave me,” he whimpers softly, watching the blond’s chest rise and fall slowly through his tears. “You _can’t_ leave me.”

Bucky jumps when he feels a hand on his shoulder, a faint, “James,” echoing behind him. He looks up to see Sarah standing over him worriedly. She holds out her hand and says, “Come with me, dear.” He takes her hand and moves to the dining table unsteadily. She slides a cup of tea across the table and says pointedly, “Drink.”

His shuddering breath echoes in the hot water as he drinks blearily, tears still streaming down his face. The warmth spreads everywhere through his body except for his chest, where the heaviness still lingers, like an ice block on his sternum.

“I need you to talk to me, James,” Sarah says, voice quiet, illuminated by the single light overhead. “You’re holding something so close to you that I’m scared it’s going to drown you.”

Bucky blinks again, sniffling back the tiredness that suddenly washes over him heavier than before. His head spins and he catches himself on the table. “What’s... what’s going on?” he slurs, voice catching as his breath still comes in triple.

“Just a little laudanum. It’ll help you sleep,” she murmurs and Bucky’s face suddenly feels very hot and heavy. “You’re worried about Steven, aren’t you?”

Maybe it’s the lack of sleep, maybe it’s the drugs coursing through his system, but all he can do is nod, face burning as he hides it in his hands. “I would do anything to save him, Ms. Sarah,” he chokes, trying not to begin crying again. “I can’t live without him. I love him.” He freezes the moment the words come out his mouth, vision spinning.

Sarah’s face softens into something laced with pity as she murmurs, “James...”

The wall he had been trying to keep up cracks, collapsing in on itself as his face crumples. “ _Please_ , Ms. Sarah. Don’t tell anyone I’m q-queer,” he begs, grappling at her hand desperately as he begins to cry again. “I d-don’t want to go to jail. They’ll k-kill me.”

“No, no, no,” she reassures him, putting her hands on the side of his trembling face. “I would never tell a soul. I could never let anything happen to one of my boys.”

“You know what they say about people like me,” Bucky slurs exhaustedly, his breathing coming in shallow gasps, a little too hard, a little too fast. The laudanum doesn’t do anything to slow his racing heart as he struggles to take in a full breath.

Sarah swipes his tears away with her thumbs and says, “This doesn’t make you broken, James. You are still the same person you have been all this time. You’re just more you, now.” He buries his face in her shoulder, sobbing until the drugs overtake his system and everything fades to black.

Bucky wakes up gasping, head still groggy from the laudanum, when he hears Sarah coughing weakly in the bed across the room from him. He sits up on the couch and looks around. “Where’s Steve?” he breathes quickly, smoothing his shirt down anxiously.

Sarah coughs again and he can see blood on her pillowcase. “I put him to bed,” she says with some difficulty. “I can still move him farther than I can move you.”

His heart beats in his chest for a few minutes as he tries to calm his breathing in the still silence of the apartment. Bucky looks around listening carefully. It’s quiet. Too quiet. “Ms. Sarah, I’ll be right back.” There’s no coughing, no wheezing, no sounds at all as he steps quickly down the hallway and pushes open the door.

Everything in his world goes white and Bucky’s head screams as he watches Steve convulse weakly on the bed, chest quivering as his body desperately tries to get air. His face has turned a pale blue, all the color washed out save for his bloodshot eyes rolled back into his head.

“No! _No_!” His voice sounds muffled in his head as he drags the blond off the bed, Steve’s small body limp in his arms. “Ms. Sarah! He’s not breathing!” Bucky screams, carrying him back into the living room. He sets Steve carefully on the floor, helpless as the teenager’s lips begin to turn a dark purple. Bucky looks up at Sarah, panicked tears flooding his eyes. “What do I do? What do I _do_?!”

The older woman struggles to sit up, voice weak as she says, “Put your hands together over the middle of his chest. Right here.” She points to the center of her sternum. Bucky does as instructed, feeling Steve’s body twitch weakly under his fingers. “Good, James. Now repeatedly push down hard, a little faster than once a second.”

He shakes his head, sobbing, “I can’t do this. I’m going to hurt him.”

“We can deal with the broken ribs later. Just keep him alive, son,” she says, and Bucky can hear the worry underneath her calm exterior. “Remember, just faster than once per second.” He does as he’s told, putting all his weight into Steve’s chest, rhythmically compressing it down. He can feel the bones give way under his palm, one cracking as he pushes down. “ _Good_ , now just keep going until he starts to come to.”

Bucky follows the directions, pushing up and down forcefully on the younger man’s chest. He repeats it over and over until his arms and back ache and the color begins to come back to the teenager’s face, a small wheezing breath working its way into Steve’s throat on its own.

“Good, good, see?” Sarah says weakly. “He’s breathing again. You did it, James.”

Steve’s eyes roll back out of his skull and they twitch wildly, trying to focus as he gasps feebly. Bucky looks up at the older woman and says, “I’m taking him to a doctor. I’ll pay for it myself if I have to. But I need to take him, Ms. Sarah.”

She nods and points to the thick quilt on the couch. “Take him to the hospital. Wrap him up so he stays warm,” she says. “Please be quick about it.”

Bucky wraps the quilt tightly around the younger man’s trembling body and throws his own coat on top, before carrying Steve down the back stairs. His heart stops again when he hears the blond begin to wheeze roughly once more. It’s freezing outside and all Bucky has on is his shirt and pants so his feet move quickly, untied boots crunching through the snow as he begins to run.

He holds Steve tight, his blond hair tucked under his chin as he races to the hospital. Eight blocks, six blocks, two. Bucky stumbles into the hospital reception, chest heaving from the cold as he gasps, “My friend needs help. Please. He’s sick. He stopped breathing.”

The orderlies bring a stretcher over and he lays Steve carefully on top, but never lets go of his hand as they all race through the hospital.

Bucky watches helplessly as they struggle to stabilize the teenager, eventually putting a tube to drain the built up liquid from his lungs, right between two of his ribs. For almost two days they pump Steve full of painkillers, antibiotic after antibiotic, and asthma medicine before the pink color finally comes back to his face. The fever breaks around day 3, Bucky still curled up in the chair next to his bed.

He doesn’t dare sleep, doesn’t dare look away, because God forbid Bucky loses him again.

On the fifth day in the hospital, Steve finally comes to, voice nearly inaudible as he rasps, “Where...am I?”

Bucky blinks back to reality, both his hands clasped around one of the blond’s, and he smiles exhaustedly at the kid. “You scared the hell outta me, you punk,” he breathes, heart still pounding in his chest for what seems like years at this point.

“Water...” Steve croaks dryly and Bucky helps tip a glass to his lips as he drinks needily. He swallows thickly and looks up at Bucky, muttering, “What... happened?”

He smiles softly at the younger teenager’s slurred speech and knows he’s still heavily drugged. Probably won’t remember a thing. He brushes Steve’s hair off his forehead and says quietly, “You got so sick that you almost died on me. I thought I had lost you.” His fingers catch on the high rise of the shorter boy’s cheekbones and Bucky wishes he could keep them there all day, every day.

Steve tightens his weak grip on their intertwined hands and raises them slowly, tucking them in the crook of his neck. His eyes close, tiredness taking hold of him again as he murmurs, “What would I do without... my Bucky?”

Bucky watches him begin to snore quietly and runs his thumb carefully over Steve’s jawline, memorizing every inch, every curve of the sleeping boy’s face.

He doesn’t know what he’d do if he ever lost this.

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I love comments!


End file.
